


Seeing Is Receiving

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 19:36:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18784813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen





	Seeing Is Receiving

 

  


“I’m dreaming of a tropical island with pretty native girls in, ahh…”

“Yes, please do keep the rest of that to yourself Napoleon.  For myself, I am dreaming of not being in a hospital room waiting for something positive about my eye injury."  Napoleon sympathized with his partner, the Russian had taken quite a beating in that THRUSH compound.  Even though both of them were laid up in Medical, his own injuries were less dangerous to his career.  If that eye patch came off of Illya and the news was bad, his career as a field agent was essentially over.

“Illya, look… I know this is serious.  Sometimes it helps to just lay back and let your mind wander to something more, umm… pleasant.”

 Just then a nurse entered the room.  Napoleon thought she seemed very pleasant. 

“Hello fellas.  How are you today?” Meg Lawson was a beautiful woman, perfectly shaped (to Napoleon’s way of thinking), with a shade of reddish blonde hair that sometimes looked like a light auburn.  Solo had been watching her, and now she was his nurse.  Not a bad thing, to be sure.

“Oh, we’re just peachy Nurse Lawson.’ The smile was classic Solo.

 “And how are you?”  Meg Lawson new all about Napoleon Solo and his burgeoning, umm… reputation.  It was the Russian that intrigued her, though.  Blond, good looking and slightly mysterious.  This was right up her alley of interest.

 “Down boy, you’re in Medical for a reason.” Meg winked at Napoleon, she could handle him with ease.

 “Mr. Kuryakin, how do you feel today.  Any irritation around your injured eye?” She had a blood pressure cuff in her hand, prompting him to raise his arm slightly in preparation for the ritual that was repeated on the hour.

 “Nothing to speak of. Do you know when the doctor will be in to remove the patch?” He didn’t like to show it, but Illya was concerned about this injury to his eye.  A stupid move on his part had put him in the path of a spray of something caustic, immediately sending him into spasms of pain as his eye shut too slowly to avoid being affected by it.  Now he was waiting on a verdict, and the possibility of a loss of vision in his right eye.  The torn muscle in his right leg would heal, as would Napoleon’s broken wrist.  But without vision…

 Meg stood between Illya and Napoleon’s view of him.  She knew Kuryakin’s reputation as a bit of a cold fish, but she also knew him to be generous and kind when people weren’t looking.  There were several examples of that among the workforce, the ones who seemed to matter less to those in prominent positions.  Illya Kuryakin went out of his way to pay attention to the needs of those who had less of a voice for their concerns.  She liked that, she liked him.

 “Doctor Wentworth will be in shortly, he’s in Mr. Waverly’s office…’’ Meg was cut short as the man in question entered the room.

 “The doctor is in.” Justin Wentworth was a good natured man, attentive to his patients and very empathetic towards the agents whose lives were often hanging in the balance.  He himself had been a Section II until an injury forced him out.  That’s when UNCLE offered to pay for him to finish his education; he had been pre-med when he accepted the call to duty with the Command.  After his injury, they sent him back to med school, and in return he served again as a part of the U.N.C.L.E.

 “Hello everyone, I hope you’re feeling better everyday.  Mister Kuryakin, are you ready to be rid of that eye patch?”  Illya nodded, a mixture of fear and relief flooding his emotions.  If he lost his position as a Section II, there was the remote possibility that he would be sent back to the Soviet Union.  Although a man given to duty, he had often thought of ways to disappear should the prospect of returning to the USSR become a reality.  At best, he would most likely be sent to Siberia, he remained the object of hatred among many in the Kremlin. He shuddered to think of the worst.

 Napoleon sat up, eager to know the outcome here.  Meg stood close by, assisting Wentworth as he gingerly began the process of removing the eyepatch.  Illya’s eye had continued to ooze unpleasantness, a sign of fighting the infection caused by the toxin.  It caused the gauze to stick in places, making this process both painful and potentially hazardous to the skin around his eye.  Illya grimaced at the discomfort, eager for it to be over.

 The doctor pulled the last of the patch away.  The skin was still tender, but there would be no lasting scars.  Illya could tell his eye was closed shut due to the crustiness created by whatever had seeped out of his eye.  Wentworth made a silent gesture to his nurse.

 “Lean back Mr. Kuryakin, I’m going to wash your eye… this may sting a little.” Meg began the process, wincing in sympathy as Illya tried to not respond as the sterile solution poured over the tender skin and into his eye.  Napoleon was holding his breath, his own anxiety over this situation a real thing; Illya couldn’t leave the field, not like this.

 “Okay Illya, slowly open your eye.  Let’s see what we have here.”

 Flashes of light, blurred images… Nothing was clear.  Illya inwardly resigned himself to the inevitable.

 “More of that, Meg.” Wentworth knew it would take a bit, and flushing out the last of the muck was necessary before Illya would be able to see clearly.

 Meg held some gauze on Illya’s cheek, her heart going out to the man.  God forbid those gorgeous blue eyes not be perfect anymore.

She poured more of the solution into and around Illya’s eye, silently praying that everything would be normal again.

“Okay Illya, once again… open your eye…’ He saw the expression on his patient’s face and knew the outcome.

 “Yes? You can see, I think everything is going to be fine.” Illya nodded, he was almost overcome by the clear image of Meg Lawson smiling at him. He had a sudden desire to kiss her, and decided it was  something he would save for later, after a dinner date he believed was bound to happen.

 “Yes, I can see very clearly.  Thank you.” Napoleon let out that breath he’d been holding in.  Everything was going to be fine, just fine.

 It took two more days in Medical before the agents were discharged.  Napoleon’s wrist would heal, and the other injuries were no long a problem requiring observation.

 Illya’s eye was looking better, although the skin still had a slightly raw look to it.  As the two friends prepared to leave for their own homes, Illya donned sunglasses, per the doctor’s directions.  His eye was going to be fine, but avoiding harsh light was a necessary precaution. He was using a crutch to offset the pain still present in his leg.  It was a small price to pay considering he had regained his sight.

 As they exited their shared room, Nurse Lawson was waiting to say goodbye to her favorite patients.  In spite of his efforts, Napoleon had been unsuccessful in getting a date lined up with the pretty nurse.  Illya, on the other hand, was looking forward to having dinner with Meg latter that evening.

 As it turned out, Meg Lawson spoke fluent French, and how better to share a romantic evening than by speaking the ultimate romance language?  Let Napoleon dream of a tropical island, Illya would be content being nursed back to health. 

 


End file.
